


Danger Night

by fardareismai



Series: This Rose is Extra [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai/pseuds/fardareismai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an accident incapacitates Rose Tyler, how will Sherlock respond?  A story in the This Rose is Extra series following from The Detective Dances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger Night

**Author's Note:**

> I received this as my first ever fic prompt last night, and it inspired this within a single 24-hour period! I do hope that you enjoy!

Mickey felt a bit of a thrill go through him, despite himself, as he stood on the step of building 221 on Baker Street. Back in their old universe, he hadn't been much more of a reader than Rose had, but he'd read a few of the Detective's stories and could understand Rose's enthusiasm.

 

Having met the man, he could also understand why Rose liked him as much as she did. Mad genius with a liking for adventures and running for his life? Not to mention putting himself and Rose in as much danger as possible. Mickey had watched the Detective do the same thing that the Doctor had done: stand between Rose and the immediate danger, ignoring the fact that she might be safe at home in her bed if not for him.

 

Mickey had resented the Doctor for this behavior. Now- older and knowing a bit about adventure himself- he could see what it was. It was the love of a pair of adrenaline junkies. The two of them lived for the trouble and the danger. Come to that, Mickey did himself. He wouldn't be sorry to hang up his gun and settle down with Martha someday, but for now he was still loving being the right hand of Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth.

 

Unfortunately, being Rose's right hand meant certain... _domestic_ responsibilities. Mickey was not on Baker Street for a social call. He, Rose and Gwen (Tosh, Owen and Jake were training new field agents) had been out on a call that had seemed simple enough: a something-or-other with sonic technology on the outskirts of London.

 

Most sonic technology went to blasters and cannons, as the team knew, but there were other uses. Dermal regenerators used sonic technology. The Doctor had owned a sonic washing machine. And then there was always...

 

“ _...Screwdrivers, Mick. They could have just taken a look at something and said '_ that needs to be a bit more sonic _.'” Rose had been grinning as they approached the building that the sonic readings were coming from. “Maybe they've a lot of shelves to put up. Or else, maybe they're just bored.”_

 

“ _Rose, not everyone is quite as mad and foolish as the Doctor,” Mickey had said, warningly._

 

“ _I know, but there's no need to go in all menacing-like first thing. Keep your hand near your blaster, but don't make it your first choice. Nothing illegal about sonic tech, even if it is a weapon. Bet that if we ask them to leave, or come to Torchwood, there won't be any problems. Right, Gwen?”_

 

“ _Mickey and I will be watching your back, Rose,” Gwen had said, nearly as worried as Mickey. “You'll take the lead and do the diplomacy thing, but we're keeping an eye out for you in case something goes wrong.”_

 

“ _I really do think that you're both being far too twitchy for this,” Rose had said with a sigh._

 

_It had actually gone much as Rose had intimated at first. She'd gone in, hands out, followed by Mickey and Gwen who had kept their hands empty, but at their sides, close to their weapons. Rose had approached the creature who had appeared to be a bipedal fish of sorts. She'd talked to it, and it had answered her._

 

_Rose had been invited closer, and her small hand-movement had asked Mickey and Gwen to hold position as she'd done so. The creature had shown Rose the sonic device he was putting together. They had discussed the uses of such a device and Mickey had watched Rose grow more tense. More like a soldier. He knew that, for all the alien's talk of medical advances, the device was intended for something more sinister. Rose's hand had moved in an apparently involuntary twitch that was, in fact, an order to him and Gwen to move in._

 

_They had done so, neither touching their weapons- Rose had not yet made that nonverbal order- but they came to flank the two standing at the laboratory table._

 

_Rose spoke then, her voice going from its warm 'diplomat' timbre to the cooler, more authoritative tone she used on those who would cause harm to others. “This sonic wave isn't meant to carry antidotes, is it? This is designed to carry a disease.”_

 

_The creature had sputtered and denied, and even Gwen, who had the least non-human interrogation experience of the lot could recognize that it was trying to cover._

 

“ _I recognize your species. Terileptil, right?” Rose continued. “Your people tried something very like this on A'Tuin once. I met a Tuinite about a year ago who explained the technology to me. Are you hoping to wipe out Earth the way you nearly did A'Tuin? Because if so, you should know that Earth is defended, and you just met her champions._

 

_It had been an impressive speech, but the creature had lashed out at her. Claws and teeth had ripped and torn. Gwen and Mickey had subdued the creature, but not before it had torn into Rose more thoroughly than either of them could have believed. The creature had moved like lightning._

 

_Gwen had done field first-aid and called for backup while Mickey had gone to the van for shackles for the currently-unconscious alien and called Jackie Tyler. Within 15 minutes, a Torchwood helicopter had arrived and Rose had been lifted back to the Torchwood medical facilities, Mickey at her side. Gwen had stayed behind to manage the packaging of the tech and the removal of the hostile alien, but had promised to join him as soon as she was able._

 

Two hours later, Rose was still in surgery and Pete, Jackie, Tony, Jake, Ianto, Gwen, Tosh and Owen were all sitting around waiting for news. Mickey had looked around and realized that there were two missing from the number. It had been so long since Rose's family had included any but the group sitting disconsolately in molded plastic chairs in the Torchwood Medical waiting area, but Mickey realized that, were he in Sherlock's position, he would be furious to not have been contacted yet.

 

No one appeared to have his number, and Rose's phone was nowhere to be found, so a physical visit was the only thing for it. Mickey had offered as he now knew Sherlock best after Rose, and he hated waiting. He needed to move to work off some of the terrified energy still coursing through him.

 

Mickey pressed the buzzer twice in succession. Nerves and frustration, and a desire to have this all done with and to get back to where Rose was to be sure she would be all right made him impatient.

 

The door was opened by a small, slim woman in her 60s.

 

“I need to speak with Sherlock and John, if they have a mo,'” Mickey said quickly, knowing that he was being brusque and a bit rude, but not in the mood to deal with the niceties of greetings.

 

“Oh, are you a client?” the woman asked.

 

“No, Rose has been in an accident.”

 

The woman's eyes went very wide. She was galvanized into immediate action. She opened the door for him. “It's right up those stairs, first landing is the sitting room. That's where they usually are. The next flight up is John's room, but Sherlock will get him down if they aren't together. Is Rose all right?”

 

“I don't know,” Mickey said, dully, as he began climbing the stairs. Reaching the door that the woman who had greeted him had indicated was the sitting room, he gave a perfunctory knock and opened the door immediately. The two men that he sought were in the room- thank goodness for small favors, he thought.

 

Sherlock rose immediately upon seeing him. “Something has happened to Rose,” he said, and took his scarf from the rack by the door to wind around his neck. He then shrugged into the long wool coat that he always wore that reminded Micky a bit of Captain Jack.

 

“Yeah,” Mickey said, not even allowing himself to be surprised that the detective had picked up on the fact. “She's at Torchwood Medical, and she wasn't in great shape when I left. We need to get there as fast as possible.”

 

“Of course,” the detective said, leading the way down the steps. “Come on, John,” he cried, not pausing. “She'll want you there as well.”

 

John grabbed his coat off the rack and followed Sherlock. Mickey followed them both. By the time he and John made it to the front door, Sherlock had hailed a cab and was climbing in the back.

 

Mrs. Hudson (for who else could she be, Mickey thought) called after them, “Give Rose all my love! Call me when you know how she is.”

 

Mickey noticed that John acknowledged this request with a wave and was pleased. He did not want to waste the time to get the woman's phone number. He climbed into the cab and gave the address and they were off.

 

“What happened?” Sherlock asked sharply to Mickey.

 

“We were on assignment and she got hurt,” he answered sharply. He did not have to defend himself to Sherlock Holmes, even if the man was Rose's boyfriend.

 

Sherlock clearly did not agree. “Were you her backup?”

 

Mickey glared at the other man. “I'm always her backup. That's what I do- I save her ass so she can save every ass on this planet.”

 

“But you let her get hurt.”

 

“Oi,” Mickey barked. “Rose Tyler doesn't get packed in cotton wool. She doesn't let anyone run dangers that she won't run herself. If you think I wouldn't put myself between her and anything dangerous in the universe in a heartbeat if she'd let me, you're a madman. 'Cept my Gran, she's the most important person in the world to me.”

 

Sherlock and Mickey glared at each other for a long minute. Finally, John- who was sitting between them, uncomfortably- spoke up. “How about we don't get into a slap fight in the cab then? If you two need to prove who the bigger man is, you can do it once we get to the hospital. I, for one, intend to go straight to Rose, but if you two want to have it out in the parking lot, I'm sure there'll be a good place.”

 

Mickey and Sherlock looked away from each other like chastised children. Both knew what Rose would have said about their behavior: she would not have been impressed. The rest of the trip was made in resentful silence.

 

Once they arrived at the medical center, Mickey paid the cabbie and led the way into the facility. In the waiting area, the same crowd sat, as despondent as he had left them. The entrance of two new members to the club of distress, however, did elicit some reaction.

 

Pete was the first to rise to greet the newcomers. He was the only one who had never been formally introduced to these new men in his daughter’s life. He glanced over the two of them and selected the taller one in the long coat (she had a type) to whom he extended his hand. “Mr. Holmes?” he ventured.

 

“Mr. Tyler. Please, call me Sherlock.”

 

Pete nodded and turned to the second man. “Dr. Watson?” he ventured again, but this time with more certainty.

 

“John,” he answered, shaking the older man’s hand. “How is Rose? Is there anything that I can do? I am a doctor.”

 

“No!” The answer was instantaneous and vehement from every Torchwood employee in the room, as well as Sherlock. No one was sure whether John had been taken into Rose’s confidence, but Sherlock’s response proved he hadn’t. Torchwood’s medical facilities were full of things that the doctor couldn’t see: future technology, alien venoms and antivenin, and the occasional fish-monster laid out on an operating table.

 

“Sorry,” Mickey said, placatingly, seeing the offended look on John’s face. “Torchwood does a lot of… experimental research. Particularly in the medical field. Our facility here is practically a laboratory as well, honestly. You have to have security clearances to work with any of the equipment. Hell, even to see it,” he said, with a rueful smile. “It’s not that we don’t trust you with Rose. You’re just not allowed into the OR.”

 

John looked slightly mollified.

 

Jackie chose this moment to join the introductions. She rose from her seat and deposited little Tony into Tosh’s lap then extended her hand to John first. “Jackie Tyler,” she offered.

 

“John Watson, it’s good to meet you. Rose talks about you all the time.”

 

“Yeah,” Jackie said with a slightly watery smile. “She talks about you as well. You’re a good friend to her, Doctor.” She patted his shoulder and sniffed, then turned to Sherlock. “Sherlock Holmes,” she said, the name very nearly an accusation.

 

“Mrs. Tyler,” he responded, hesitantly.

 

Jackie frowned at him. “Figures that once she starts dating seriously again she chooses Sherlock bloody Holmes. Fictional characters, aliens, time travelers- she never could just settle down with a normal boy and give me grandkids, could she?”

 

Sherlock decided that silence was the safest response he could possibly give.

 

Jackie continued quietly so only Sherlock could hear. “It’s not all right, not really, because I hate sitting in hospital waiting rooms waiting for someone to come in and tell me the worst. I once made a man promise to keep her safe, no matter what, and he did that. He sent her away when the danger got the worst. I loved him for that, but it broke her heart. That was worse, see? The light went out of her. You see it, don’t you? She’s a light in the darkness, and when that got snuffed out… she wasn’t dead, but she might as well have been. I helped her get back to him and I’ve never regretted it. So I won’t ask you to keep her safe, Sherlock Holmes- she’s responsible for that herself. What I am going to tell you to do, on pain of death, is to never ever break her heart. If you’re the one who snuffs out that light, I can promise that I’ll tear the universe apart to find you and make you sorry.”

 

Sherlock looked at the older woman in shock. He had no idea how to answer, but she seemed to be awaiting something. “I…” he began, weakly.

 

“I know it ain’t fair to ask, don’t think I don’t. You can’t fix it if your feelings change, I know that. But I’ll never forgive you, got that?”

 

Sherlock met the blue eyes that were so unlike her daughter’s save that they held the same passionate fire. “I sincerely doubt, Mrs. Tyler, that _I_ will ever forgive myself if I break her heart.” He fervently hoped that no one but Jackie Tyler had heard him, though the sentiment was true.

 

Rose’s mother nodded. “That’s all I can expect, I suppose.” She turned from him then and addressed the group as a whole. “I’ve got to have something to do. I’m going to go get everyone some tea, that all right?”

 

After receiving a general murmur of assent, and checking that Tosh was all right to keep an eye on Tony, Jackie left.

 

~?~?~?~?~

 

After an hour without word, Tony Tyler started to cry. His mother held and rocked him, but couldn’t calm him, nor could his father. His de-facto aunts and uncles all tried, but he was inconsolable. Even John was given a turn to attempt to calm the little boy, but he continued to weep and ask for his sister. Gwen had been holding and rocking him for nearly half an hour when she dumped the bundle of weeping child into Sherlock’s lap without explanation or request.

 

The little towheaded boy looked up at Sherlock with wide, wet blue eyes. “Is Wose going to be all right?” he asked.

 

Sherlock noted that the boy _could_ pronounce his ‘r’s, but continued to use the incorrect consonant at the beginning of his sister’s name. Knowing Rose as he did, he expected that she liked the way her brother said her name and allowed him the mistake.

 

He had to answer the little boy’s question though. “I do hope so,” he answered, the only honest response he could give.

 

“Are you Wose’s Doctor?” Apparently the novelty of a new face had cleared his tears for the moment, giving his bright curiosity a chance to surface.

 

“No,” Sherlock answered with a frown. “I’m Rose’s…” he hesitated, uncertain what name to give his relationship with this child’s sister, “friend. Her doctor is in with her now…” Sherlock again hesitated, having never spent much time speaking to young children, “making her better?” he tried.

 

“Not that doctor,” the little boy countered with all the arrogant dismissal of a five-year-old. “The one with the phone-box spaceship.”

 

Ah, Rose’s Doctor from the other universe. “No, I’m not that Doctor either,” Sherlock answered.

 

The boy gave him a grave look. “Wose sometimes tells me Doctor stories. Can you tell me one?”

 

“I don’t know any Doctor stories,” Sherlock answered. He watched the little boy’s lower lip begin to quiver and his eyes fill with tears again. “I can tell you a story about Rose though. A true story when she saved my life. Would that do instead?”

 

Little Tony looked at him for a long moment, lower lip poking out in a pout. Finally he nodded gravely and Sherlock allowed himself a sigh of relief at this reprieve.

 

He began to tell the boy the story of how he and Rose had met investigating the Baskerville research facility. Occasionally John would poke him in the side and shake his head if he got too deep into a description of something that might bore or scare the boy. Tony, for his part, kept his wide, blue eyes on Sherlock for the entire story and his expression remained grave.

 

When Sherlock finished the story, Tony continued to look at him for a few moments. “Was the dog an alien?” he asked.

 

“No,” Sherlock answered, wondering if he hadn’t explained it well enough. “He was just a dog, we were drugged and saw a monster.”

 

“Kay. Was the glowing rabbit an alien?”

 

“No.” Sherlock was really perplexed now. He hadn’t implied that any of these things were aliens when he’d told the story, had he? “It was a genetic experiment.”

 

“I prefer stories with aliens. Next time, you should make the dog an alien,” Tony declared, then slid off Sherlock’s lap and wandered off in search of his mother.

 

Sherlock stared after the boy completely perplexed. John laughed. “Rose’ll be a good mum someday, making up alien stories like that. You did well with him too. He’s not crying anymore.”

 

Sherlock frowned. He _had_ done all right with the boy- not perfect, but certainly better than he would have expected. Then the first part of John’s statement seemed to unravel in his psyche. Rose as a mother? Rose as a mother would require someone as a father. Sherlock had never desired progeny, so it would have to be someone else. The thought of Rose with someone else- having children with someone else- caused a wave of red to wash over every thought in Sherlock’s head. The faceless, nameless man in Sherlock’s mind who was the father of Rose’s children was, for an instant, Sherlock’s greatest enemy. More strongly than ever he had wanted the death of any other human being on the planet, Sherlock wanted that fictional individual completely destroyed.

 

Logic reasserted itself quickly and Sherlock was shocked at the depths of his feeling. Since he had met her, Rose Tyler had been slowly tearing down the walls that he kept up around his emotions. Where his brother, Mycroft, might claim not to even have emotions, Sherlock could make no such boast. He had them; he was simply forced to keep them under rigid control. Rose, however, could ease the walls and unlock the door, letting out one or two emotions- small doses that helped him learn to deal with them. Now, without her at his side, her hand in his, those feelings were escaping and they were, suddenly, overwhelming.

 

“I am afraid, John,” Sherlock said so quietly that the man beside him might not even have heard.

 

“Sherlock?” John asked.

 

“I am afraid to lose her, John. I’m afraid that…” Sherlock trailed off.

 

“That?” John prompted, intrigued.

 

“Never mind,” Sherlock snapped.

 

Sherlock Holmes was not a man given to self-doubt, yet these were the thoughts that he did not voice to John: _Afraid that I’ve forgotten how to be without her. Afraid that without her, I’ll fall again. Afraid that the only reason that I am a good man is because she sees one when she looks at me. Afraid that she’ll leave me. Afraid that I’ll run her off. Or get her hurt. Or fail her. Afraid that she’ll find a way back to her alien lover and choose him over me. Afraid that she’ll find a way to return to the stars and choose them over me. Afraid that the Earth is not enough to hold her. Afraid that I am not enough to hold her. Afraid that I don’t even deserve to._

 

Sherlock was finally shaken out of his reverie by the tall, olive-skinned man in surgical garb that stepped through the doors to the main part of the hospital and walked over to Pete Tyler to converse quietly.

 

“She made it through surgery,” John said, just before Sherlock could.

 

“Yes, I know,” he said, glancing over at his friend. “How do you?”

 

“Doctor,” John said, simply.

 

“Of course.”

 

The two men watched the conversation. They saw Pete and Jackie’s initial relief, then the gradual resumption of the tension that had permeated both of them for the past two hours as they had all waited for news.

 

“Made it through surgery, but not out of the woods yet,” Sherlock declared.

 

“Yes.”

 

When the doctor left, Pete gathered the rest of the crew around him and Jackie.

 

“She made it through the surgery all right. She’s patched up, but there’s still the… toxin,” Pete said, carefully. “They think they managed to neutralize it, but they won’t know until she wakes. It could be an hour or two. It could be a day. She might never wake if they didn’t manage to neutralize it.”

 

Everyone in the circle gasped.

 

“I’m not trying to scare you for no reason, okay?” Pete continued. “I just want to make sure you’re all prepared for any eventuality. Could be she’ll be awake and laughing as soon as the anesthesia wears off, but it’s possible she won’t. We can all go look in on her for a minute- two at a time- but only Jackie and I can stay tonight. Mick, will you watch Tony?”

 

“Of course,” Mickey said. Anything for them.

 

The group split into their pairs. Jackie and Pete first with Tony who wouldn’t count. Mickey and Gwen. Jake and Ianto. Tosh and Owen. Sherlock and John.

 

Each pair got two or three minutes with her, and then went on their way. As he left, Mickey told Jackie and Pete that Martha would stop by on her way back from work to look in on them as well.

 

Finally it was Sherlock and John’s turn to see Rose. John stood back and watched his friend. Sherlock moved straight in to Rose’s bedside. His analytical mind began cataloguing her injuries. A bruise rising over her cheekbone. Defensive wounds on her forearms where she had blocked blows. Those were the only injuries that he could see, none of which would have required the kind of surgery that she had undergone. Those injuries must be covered by her gown and the sheet that was pulled over her.

 

He tried to see Rose as a victim of a crime. To analyze how her injuries had come about. What she must have done. To do what he was trained to do, but all he could see was Rose Tyler being hurt. Rose Tyler afraid. Rose Tyler on a bed, pale and silent and still- as she so rarely was. Rose Tyler who had needed protection and he wasn’t there to protect.

 

He ran two trembling fingers ever-so lightly across the bruise on her cheek- barely touching so as not to cause her pain but so desperate to feel her warm skin under his fingers. He took the hand of the arm that did not have the IV needle and brought her knuckles to his lips. He kissed them ever-so gently, whispering “you must get better, Rose Tyler” across her skin. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, breathing deep. Her normal orange blossom scent was covered by the odour of medicine and antiseptic. He touched his forehead to hers and for a long moment simply listened to her breathe, savouring the sound and the soft feel of her breaths across his face.

 

After a moment, Sherlock straightened and turned toward the door. He saw John standing there and was, somehow, surprised. It had, for a moment, slipped his mind that he was not alone with Rose. He would never have been so demonstrative in public, and he expected some teasing, sarcastic comment from his friend for his behavior, but John simply stood, watching him gravely.

 

John had witnessed the trembling in Sherlock’s hands, the tension in his shoulders, and the desperation in his eyes. When first he and Sherlock had moved into 221B, Mycroft had explained Sherlock’s predilection toward opiates. He had also explained that his brother had what he’d called ‘danger nights.’ Those nights when, despite throwing off his dependence on the drugs, Sherlock would desperately seek the comfort or oblivion that they provided. These were nights when Sherlock was scared, weak, or vulnerable. Watching the shaking hands and the tender kisses and knowing that neither he nor his flatmate would sleep that night until they had heard news of Rose’s full recovery, John knew that tonight was a ‘danger night.’

 

“Come on, Sherlock, we need to go so Pete and Jackie can come sit with her,” John said, straightening and taking the detective’s arm to lead him out the door. As Sherlock made no physical or verbal objection to being led, John knew that things were even more dangerous than he had feared.

 

John gave Pete both his and Sherlock’s numbers to get in touch with them as soon as Rose woke. He then bade Rose’s parents goodbye and continued to lead his friend out of the hospital. Sherlock was compliant but silent as John hoped and prayed that Rose woke soon.

 

~?~?~?~?~

 

Sherlock felt like he had spent the past three hours counting seconds. He could think of nothing but the passage of time and his silent phone. At some point around second 2700 after arriving back at the flat, he had noticed with some detached interest that his hands were shaking. Withdrawal. When was the last time he had slipped back into withdrawal symptoms? The thought was an idle one alongside the oppressive silence of his phone. For a further 8100 seconds Sherlock watched his hands shake, counted seconds, and listened to his phone not make a sound. He also saw, with photographic clarity, the image of Rose in a hospital bed- needle in her arm, machines monitoring her vital signs. He relived the feel of her breaths across his face and her skin under his fingers and lips.

 

Sherlock wanted oblivion. He wanted to race into the streets and find the nearest dealer of narcotics and send himself into a haze where he did not feel frightened. Alone. Guilty.

 

But if he did that, he would miss the call. He would miss her eyes opening and her lips smiling. That one act could lose her to him completely. He could not risk it, whatever the temptation, so he sat, shaking and counting.

 

After the third hour ticked away, a mug held in a blunt-fingered hand insinuated itself into Sherlock's perceptions. His nose identified the contents as coffee.

 

Sherlock raised his eyes from his shaking hands to his flatmate's calm face.

 

“Drink some coffee, Sherlock,” John said.

 

Sherlock reached an unsteady hand for the mug. “I'd prefer a cigarette, really,” he said with a touch of wry humor as he wrapped both hands around the cup of warm liquid to keep his shaking from spilling it everywhere.

 

John smiled. This had been one of the most frightening nights he had spent with the detective. Not for any specific danger, save the one in his friend's own mind. John had feared having to sedate or fetter Sherlock to keep him from doing himself an injury. On nights like this, his roommate was usually restless. He played the violin for five minutes, then threw it aside, moved two chess pieces, then wandered off, got a slide for his microscope half-prepared and walked away. He was irritable. He was even violent. John had never seen this kind of complete torpor in the man. The indifferent lassitude had been more terrifying than the man's rages.

 

If he could reach his sense of humor, however, he might be all right, John thought.

 

“Drink some coffee, eat some food, and if you still need one, I'll get you one,” John bargained.

 

Sherlock nodded, and drank his coffee.

 

~?~?~?~?~

 

It had been five hours since John and Sherlock had left Rose's side and they had heard nothing. Sherlock appeared to be composing something on the violin, but he would stop every few moments to pick up his phone and check for messages that weren't there.

 

John was trying desperately to get into a book, but the start-and-stop nature of Sherlock's playing made it impossible to focus. He considered turning on the telly and just allowing his brain to shut off. He suggested the idea to Sherlock who answered with an annoyed snort and nothing else. John got up and went into the kitchen to make more coffee.

 

Sherlock pulled his bow across the strings of his violin and the E-string snapped. A torrent of profanity in three languages (none of them English) issued forth from his mouth without conscious thought from his brain.

 

John watched his friend from the kitchen doorway as he cursed in languages that John could only barely recognize. He thought there was an Asian language, probably Mandarin or Cantonese, there was Russian or some similar language, and there was one that John hesitantly identified as Farsi.

 

“You all right?” John asked when the tirade was done.

 

“Cigarettes, John, now,” Sherlock bit off.

 

~?~?~?~?~

 

Nearly a 45-minute walk to a store that would sell nicotine products to Sherlock and was open at nearly 2 AM, and they were a third of the way back to their flat. Sherlock was on his second cigarette, and his hands were still shaking.

 

“Finish that and come on,” John said, taking a side street that wouldn't take them straight back to their digs. He knew that Sherlock needed a distraction, and the only thing he could think of at the moment was food.

 

Sherlock followed, sucking down the poisonous smoke as though it were life's breath. He wasn't sure where John was taking him, but he knew that going back to their flat would just leave him as restless as he'd been before.

 

John shoved him through the doors into the grease-and-salt-scented air of an all-night chippy and followed after him.

 

~?~?~?~?~

 

“When do you think she'll wake?” Sherlock asked.

 

It had been seven and a half hours since they'd left her now. Sherlock had given in and they were on the sofa watching trashy television.

 

“It's nearly 4 AM, Sherlock, maybe they're asleep, or letting us sleep.”

 

Sherlock gave him a look like he was an idiot, and really, John hadn't believed it when he was saying it anyway.

 

“She'll wake up when she wakes up. Her body's healing, you know enough anatomy to know that.”

 

Sherlock sighed and they both went back to the terrible talk show.

 

~?~?~?~?~

 

Sherlock was in the kitchen making another pot of coffee and John was asleep on the couch. The television continued to drone, but it could not stop Sherlock's whirling thoughts. 6 AM, Rose had been asleep for nearly 12 hours. She should be coming out of it by now. The longer it went, the more his hands shook, though he managed to control the worst of it when John was looking.

 

For the first time, he forced himself to consider what might happen if she did not wake. If from this day forward, his life would be devoid of Rose Tyler. Could he manage it?

 

A voice in his head that sounded like Mycroft said “ _Yes_.”

 

A voice in his heart that sounded like John said “ _No_.”

 

Sherlock's phone sounded. From the living room, so did John's.

 

~?~?~?~?~

 

“You look like hell, babe,” Mickey said with a smile. He had come as soon as Pete had texted, bringing little Tony to his mum and dad and sister. The Tyler family reunion had been a very affecting scene but now Jackie, Pete and Tony were off to their home for sleep, showers, and relaxation.

 

“You should see the other guy,” Rose murmured. They had her on several pain medications, and all of them made her fuzzy and slow-witted. She kept her eyes closed for much of the conversation, but she smiled when he talked.

 

“Yeah, as I was the one to dispatch the other guy, I've seen him.”

 

“Oh yeah,” she said, coming slightly more awake, even cracking her eyelids. “Did you get everything from 'im? 'Is... equipment... an'... stuff?” She was fading again.

 

“Yeah, we got everything, love. No worries on that score. You focus on getting better, then you and I are going to have another fight about you carrying a gun.”

 

Rose shook her head without opening her eyes. “Nope,” she said, popping the 'p' at the end like the always did. “'M'not gonna carry anything lethal.”

 

“We'll talk when you're better.”

 

“I'll be more atricu... articru... I'll be able t' argue better when 'm better.”

 

Mickey laughed. “I'm gonna go get some tea. Want me to bring you some?”

 

“Mmmm, 'f I tried to drink anything, 'd just dribble it down m' chin, way I am right now.”

 

“But it'd be amusing for me.”

 

“Sod off, wanker.”

 

“See you in a bit, then, babe,” Mickey said, brushing a kiss over her uninjured cheek. He turned and saw two newcomers at the door. “John, Sherlock,” he greeted them.

 

“What about 'em?” Rose asked, sleepily.

 

“They're in your door, love.”

 

That news managed to open Rose's eyes. “So they are. You two look like you've had a rough night.”

 

“Not quite so rough as you,” John said, coming forward and brushing a kiss over Rose's uninjured cheek, like Mickey had.

 

“Me? 'M fine,” Rose said, cheerily. “Torchwood has the best drugs.”

 

Both she and John laughed together. Rose shut her eyes for a moment and was silent. Sherlock, still standing in the doorway, wondered if she had fallen asleep. He was slightly offended that she had not greeted him.

 

Suddenly Rose's eyes opened and were clearer than he had yet seen them today. “Are you gonna stand in the doorway all mornin', Sherlock? Or are you gonna come say 'lo? I know 'm a lovely sight, bruised and scarred 's I am now, but you can't be so overcome with my beauty that you can't 'member how to talk.”

 

Sherlock smiled. She always seemed to know the perfect thing to say. Here he was, worried that his sleepless night had caused hallucinations, or that he had fallen asleep and was dreaming about her, then she made fun of him in that drug-slurred voice and he knew. No one could be that absurd but Rose.

 

He stepped forward and kissed her mouth. He kept it gentle, just a brush of his lips over hers, but it was foolish and demonstrative and emotionally charged- everything that he usually was not.

 

When he stood straight again, she was grinning dopily at him.

 

“Well that was lovely. You'll have to do it again sometime when 'm less loopy. See if it makes my 'ead swim the same way.”

 

John laughed and Rose suddenly looked horrified. “Gods, did I say that out loud?” She looked more alert and aware than she had the entire time that John and Sherlock had been in the room. “I 'ope I don' 'member this tomorrow,” she said, flushing pink.

 

Sherlock took a seat on the other side of her bed where the hand that did not have an IV in it lay. He picked it up and brushed his lips over her knuckles, continuing to smile at her.

 

“Morphine, sometimes called morphia, from Morpheus, the god of sleep and dreams. I may fall asleep again in a mo'. Mickey kept complaining that I was. So did Tony.”

 

“Sleep if you need, Rose, we'll wait for Mickey to come back,” John assured her.

 

Rose cut her eyes over to Sherlock, even as her blinks got longer and longer. “Will you stay 'til I wake up again?” she asked in an uncertain voice, as though she expected him to deny her.

 

“If you like,” he said, softly.

 

She shut her eyes then. “I'd like,” she murmured, her voice barely comprehensible through the slurring.

 

Sherlock glanced up to see John smirking at him.

 

“Shut up, John,” he bit off, but he knew the sentiment was somewhat undermined by his inability to wipe the smile from his face.


End file.
